


Through The Valley

by desertvvitch



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Major Character Injury, Major Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Trauma, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29173044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desertvvitch/pseuds/desertvvitch
Summary: There's a wobble in her voice; soft and fragile in the way it shakes her throat with her quiet cries, "Ya can't save everyone."She laughs, and its wet; sardonic. Her eyes bore into his own with bloodshot determination and a sprinkle of hope. "I can try." She wipes her nose on her sleeve before she sniffles, "It's all I can do."
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	1. Introduction to a Bird’s Song

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm gonna focus on finish the projects that I've started, and I'm gonna work to really make them good.  
> Also me, having ADHD and a constant need for hyperfixations: I HEARD THAT THE WALKING DEAD IS COMING BACK THIS MONTH I NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT AFTER BINGE WATCHING SEASON TEN IN TWO DAYS.
> 
> Welcome to my own personal hell. I hope you like Dakota.

_ The heart of the earth beats heavy under her heels. _

She completely forgot how fast walkers could get when stragglers find themselves following like sheep. Incoherent groans of death as she limps; her thigh burning from the sensation of the bullet tearing through her muscles. Deafening sounds of scuffling feet along decaying leaves and dead branches only seem to lead her closer and closer to a destination she wasn’t sure she wanted to meet.

A walker grabs her hair; her scalp burns at the pull, but she manages to get free after the harsh struggle. Blood rushes through her skull as she pushes further on the adrenaline through her body. It’s hard to do as her body starts to cramp and seize but she pushes and she pushes because she needs to get back to the prison.

She needs to get back home.

Dakota finds herself trapped then, on a cliffside she doesn’t remember ever noting in the area from the maps. Hunting parties and basic patrols never even came this close to something like this. A twenty foot drop into a rushing river. Rapids roared over the groans and raspy cries of the walkers and she finds herself looking over the cliff and back at the herd that closes in on her slowly. 

She needs to make a choice ―  _ make a fucking choice _ . 

A leap of faith; a leap into a biting cold that rattles even her bones. 

_ It wasn’t always like this. _

It really wasn’t. Dakota was with them from the beginning ― starting with Rick who she found blockaded heavily in her hospital to keep him safe. She did her best to keep him safe even though her hope of him waking up was slim to none, but he was her only patient left ― the rest had to be put down; she was practically forced into doing so when the clicking of their teeth caused them to shatter under the pressure. 

And then it moved from this camp on the outskirts of Atlanta. She remembers meeting them all, the interesting clad and mesh of personalities within the small, dirty camp. Introductions were kept brief when they finally made it to the came, but they were there and as a Doctor, she became an important aspect to the group's survival and future. She was lucky ― or at least, that was what Shane had told her in a low, domineering voice. Something she found herself having to get used to.

She remembers meeting Daryl. He was the last one she met, and he was nothing but spitfire and rage. Wild blue eyes, dirt that clung to his skin, a real country boy. 

The travel to the CDC left her uneasy. A gut feeling that weighed heavy in her intestines as she sits within the RV. She makes mental notes, simple little things to trigger bigger motions ―  _ remember to grab this and that and this _ ― and she guesses that old habits die hard; even in dying and trying times.

Dr. Edwin Jenner was nothing short of someone who only  _ added _ to that gut feeling. 

When he showed them TS―19, she found herself far more interested in the case case and the MRI videos that he showed them. It was ― in an essence ― something that would be seared into her skull till the day she died. The pulsing lights of the synapses ― organic wiring that fired signal after signal through the brain ― illuminated the screen as Shane asked and Dr. Jenner explained the meaning behind them to the group. 

“You don’t make sense ever?” Daryl sounds.

“They’re synapses.” Edwin relays. 

Dakota covers her mouth and continues to watch; to listen.

The first event was terrifying to watch. The black tendrils of infection consumed and clouded the brain as the subject slowly lost life within themselves. 

Edwin continues to talk, and Dakota finds herself scribbling down notes on a loose notepad under her palms. Things to keep for her records. Things to think about on the drive away from this place. Things to read over and over and over until her eyes bleed.

He mentions the infection invades the brain like Meningitis ―  _ she writes that down _ ― and he talks about the hemorrhage of the adrenal glands ―  _ she writes that down _ ― he continues with the fact that the brain and major organs begin to shut down right after ―  _ she writes that down too _ .

The second event scares her worse than the first. The mild firings of the synapses from the infection show on the screen, something that leaves a panic to fill the awkward void in her belly. As Andrea questions him about what it could be; she continues to write down the words that seem to spill from his mouth. They’re heavy with sadness, that tinge of pain painting his eyes as he talks about it ―  _ microbial, viral, parasitic, fungal, the wrath of god _ ― he spills what he knows past his lips and into their ears, and all Dakota can think about is taking note after note after note as if it could mean something. As if it could matter in the end.

Dale questions the timer; people panic; things blur together. 

A computer talks; glass shatters; flames roar. 

Dakota sits in the back of the RV, looking over her notes she took back in that main room with the big screen.

The wrath of God ― their Extinction Event.

_ One in the same _ , she thinks.  _ One in the same _ , she hopes. 

The weathered highway they scoured down was clad with broken down cars and a straggling herd of walkers. Walkers ― as normal as they may start to seem ― never got easier to handle, and they always managed to show up at the most opportune of times.

The shuffle of dead weaved through the cars like an amusement park line, but the way panic seemed to radiate from the living’s pores didn’t help with the panicked movements of those around her. 

T-Dog had cut his arm ― blood trailing through the creases of his fingers ― as Dakota could only think about wrapping his wound with what was on hand only for a walker to start stalking them after they had managed to corner themselves. It was Daryl who came in to extinguish that last flickering flame in the thing's skull. 

_ He’s wild looking _ ― she thinks ―  _ he’s in his element _ . Finger pressed to his lip, he commanded them to stay quiet, dragging T-Dog from against the car to cover him with a walker. He merely pushes Dakota into a pile that sat a few feet away from him, covering her with the limp weight of the dead. Cheek pressed into someone's back, she watches as he covers his own body with one from the car ― blue, maybe a 2004, maybe older. She finds it hard to focus on the little things when she’s belly first under a dead man. 

That was really ― in such a crude and awkward sense ― the first, real connection they’ve had of any kind. Through weeks of small chatter and awkward looks of acknowledgement, this was something  _ different _ .

A man born and raised in the deep country on the east coast to a woman born and raised in the city of the west coast.

Blue bored into green ― a storm filled ocean against the anxious sway of a forest ― as anxiety bubbles and looms in her belly. Her fingers twitch and Daryl sees; she knows he sees. He’s watching her; it’s something to focus on and she knows it so she watches too. 

From there, they were led to the farm house where they all met up with the Greene family; where they found Sophia. That farm was the beginning and the end all wrapped up in a pretty piece of property and cricket calls. 

A gunshot echoes, a woman on a horse comes and takes Lori ― _ Carl was shot _ ― and all they manage to do is make up their mind that both Glenn and Dakota take T-Dog to the farm that was mentioned. The fever of infection that laces the sweat on T-Dogs brow was enough to cause concern, even as Daryl throws them a bottle of Doxycycline. The medicine was enough to keep T-Dog steady, but as the drive took them into the night, and his fever brought on the cold chills, she couldn’t blame him for being short with the two of them as they walked up the brick steps and onto the white washed porch.

Shirt coated in sweat, droplets of blood on rusty brick, the smell of earth and southern country side that permeates in the trees. 

The first thing that comes out of her mouth when Maggie introduces herself is her blood type.

“I’m an O neg.” she claims, shifting heavily on the balls of her feet as she looks around the broad, countryside home. Cricket calls sound through the cracked windows as she looks at the worn oak doors. “I was a surgeon ― I  _ am  _ a surgeon.”

“We’re here to help in any way we can.” Glenn sounds, his voice calmer than her own as she places a hand on T-Dog’s shoulder. 

There’s an inkling of hope when Maggie sounds out for her father ― information that dripped from Dakota’s mouth now fell from Maggie’s as they start to stick her with a needle in the crook of her elbow. They say it might be enough to just keep him steady until Shane and Otis come back ― Lori’s hand pressed on her shoulder before cupping her cheek with a whispered gratitude. The needle stick stings a little but as she watches the blood pool and flow through the tube and into the amber jar, she can’t find it in her to care. 

From there Hershel’s farm became a home but it felt as if their place was simply stagnant. Held in a permanent loop of unusual events and repeat bullshit. Sun up and sun down remained the same ― day in and day out ― as chores around the place remained consistent to those they were assigned to. 

Tents were placed and put up under the protection of the trees, plans were made and kept in hopes of finding Sophia, people put their hopes and trust in that of the man who stood tall with a Colt Python in his hand. 

It’s only a few weeks later when they all find out about the walkers in the barn. The haunting growls and groans of walkers sound through the old wood barn as the chain and padlock rattle against the doors. Conversations met with arguments about what needs to be done wasn’t something Dakota wanted to listen to, but she stood there as a mediator ― a neutral party. She agrees with Rick, much to a lot of their disapproval and much to her own hesitation. People are getting dragged left and right when it comes to sides, and it was something that she just wasn’t willing to play. 

Then the sun begins to fall, and Shane walks through the dirt road only to place guns in people's hands. One in Daryl’s, one in Glenn’s, and one in hers. A pump action shotgun would be enough to throw back several walkers at once if she was calculated enough, but the nausea that sits in her belly leaves her unwilling to pull the trigger when the time comes. 

An oath was taken when she became a doctor, and this just felt like a betrayal of those ancient words but those words meant nothing once she saw Rick and Hershel walking from the woods with walkers held on snare poles. Those words soon meant  _ nothing _ as Shane proved the point that needed to be made. They weren’t living. They weren’t alive. 

They were shells of what was. Things that were as feral as a rabid dog.

Her hands didn’t falter as she pressed her gun into Andrea’s arms only to walk towards Carol and Lori and Carl. This wasn’t something she could handle right now. This was far too new; far too fresh

It happens all so fast and then it's over until it's not.

She can’t stop Carol fast enough, but Daryl can and he does. Her cries sound over the cicada’s calls and the setting sun. The smell of gunpowder and hot flesh raises through the air. Sophia clambers out from that barn and there are no words for the pain filled cries that echo over the sound of gunshots. Each sounding boom leaving Dakota shuddering in her skin. 

She finds herself walking away from the scene as Rick walks up and pulls the trigger.

The prison was a place that had so much potential but the prison was a wildly different experience. 

She isolates herself; only talking to those who talk to her first, or if they’re in need of medical advice and in most cases, Hershel was easier to talk to when it came to things. Dakota forces them to put her on the back burner ― she wants nothing to do with them, just for a little while.

If there was a man she’d ever want to stab; however, it was Daryl. The guy was no different than her in the way he watches the group of people they’ve grown so familiar with ― the same people they have the privilege to call family. Over the past year or so ― she’s lost count ― he’s grown softer in the way he treats the others; her included. 

She’s never sure why he was starting to soften around the edges, but it was only then that he allowed himself to do it. 

Hell, she’ll miss meals on purpose only to find a plate of food outside her room ―  _ cell _ ― bars. She could feel the way his eyes bore into the side of her temple as she picked up the plate only to place it on the table that was pushed into the corner. 

She barely ever ate what anyone brought to her. Years of self-conditioning probably, secretly prepared her for this. 

Where his worries and concerns were valid, his need for intrusion on the matter was not.

He was a snappy son of a bitch, even with the hint of concern lacing through his tongue. Crossbow slung over his shoulder like some kind of security blanket with the worn down leather vest stiff on his shoulders. 

She has to give him credit though; he sure does try. 

“I ain’t some child needing a mother hen.” she lets her tongue run over her teeth as they drip with cynicism; her hands working frantically to fold her semi―clean clothes. “If I’m hungry, I’ll eat. Until them ― fuck off.”

“Yer just some west coast brat who don’t like bein’ told what to do.” she can merely scoff at his words, but her skin is calloused and tough ― his words don't reach the sharpness he hopes.

“If you’re looking for tears, why not go  _ bitch  _ at someone else. I’m busy here.”

He stalks off then, a calloused figure that sways through the prison halls in hopes to find something to occupy his time other than to bitch and boss her around. She scoffs;  _ the nerve on him _ , she thinks. 

When Hershel has to have his leg amputated, it’s her and Lori that save him. Lori’s smart, tactful, and unafraid to get things done and with her idea of isolating herself from those around her, Dakota finds herself listening to Lori on an equal footing. Dakota has the experience in amputations, but Lori has the guts. 

The stench of blood, the warmth of human flesh, the sound of breaking bone never gets easier but it never gets old either. Adrenaline pumps until it can’t anymore, and her patient lays deathly limp under the pressure of a saw against muscle, tendon and bone. The sinew of muscle tears like paper under the sharpness of the blade, the working of her own muscles as she picks up a steady and quick motion. She can’t afford to be slow about this; they need to work fast to keep him alive. 

When things settle, and Hershel lays heavily on the cot ― Dakota finds herself with a needle in the crook of her elbow as she donates what she can to him. Being an O neg has its benefits, and being a surgeon who is also an O neg is more of a blessing from the hands of God, or at least that was what all of her coworkers seem to have told her. 

She sits uncomfortably in the metal chair as she waits for her thirty minutes to be up. The needle itches and stings but she merely picks at the pilling cotton on her rolled up sweater. Her head tipped back as she felt herself growing dizzy; her mouth feeling dry until the touch of her tongue. 

Daryl walks through ― as if on  _ fucking _ cue ― with two plates of wild game and some wild mushrooms, a flask of water made for sharing hanging from his hand in a limp fashion. He looks as if he’s about to argue; about to complain about her lack of food intake and normally she would be up for the bitching and the push back but she can’t help the way her stomach growls at the smell of the plain meat and sautéed mushrooms.

It became a routine after that ― sitting together in silence as she picks at the meals he brings her at night. 

“I hope you know I don’t like mushrooms.” but she still finds herself picking at them and eating the damn things. 

.-.-.

It’s the cold harsh gasp that brings her back. A shiver rips and tears through her body as a pathetic whine leaves her throat. Fingers dig into mud, bruises ache, blood seems to seep into the material of her jeans and white cotton shirt. 

_ Not what I thought would happen when I got dressed this morning, _ she thinks with a pain laced smile as she drags herself out from the cold shore. 

The traversal through the areas; the change in scenery; the hordes of undead ― it always left her feeling queasy and nauseous. The stench of rotting flesh, the wafting of decaying muscle sloughing off of brittle, splintering bones. Jaws unhinged like pythons, groans of death echo through roads and weaving grass. The slow scuffle and shuffle of old, worn shoes along asphalt. It was a kind of rinse and repeat bullshit that she grew numb to over time. 

As everything went as a blur, but the memories of the people she met along the way were as vivid as technicolor. Soft and subtle; hardy and full; harsh and real. It was real ― all of it was real ― and it stayed real until the end but an ending usually never means an end. Some ends only lead to beginnings.

She was a doctor before the outbreak ― Rick’s surgeon to be exact ― but she became more than just someone to sew and stitch wounds as the days weaved and blurred. She became what she had to be even with the inflammation so fervorous and hot in her belly. She did what she had to do. 

There had to be  _ something _ of meaning to all of this. 

Only, there hadn’t really been much of a meaning to it at all.

She had to become a survivor.

So, a survivor she became.


	2. Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Miss all my family_   
>  _Oh, I don't care, anyone, anything_   
>  _'Cause I'm so sick of being so lonely_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

There was something rather cathartic about riding at night. The moonlit roads, the beat of hooves on soft dirt, cool breeze against flushed skin. Heaven-sent sounds of owls and crickets and coyotes against the summer night. The air is fresh, for once; the smell of forest and dewy grass light in their atmosphere, but like everything else, it’s always torn away from peace.

A flare sounds and lights under the moonlit sky.  _ North northwest _ , she thinks. Heels dig into her mare's sides ― the urgency of complaints comes from the snorts she gives her. The pace picks up, and Dakota can’t help but lift the bandana over her nose and mouth with the curious intentions of following that flare.

It takes her a minute flat to get where she needs to be, a whistle sounds from her lips and echoes about the trees as she rides past the group of strangers. A large RV; she’ll have to remember that.

Her mare rears a bit before trampling over several walkers in her wake. She has no fears when it comes to the dead, and Dakota’s only fear is losing the beast that took such good care of her. 

“Koda!” she knows that voice ―  _ Eric _ ― but she can’t stop now. Luna’s hooves click against the asphalt, an arrow whizzes past the mare's neck, causing her to startle with nostrils flared and pinned ears.

“My safehouse! Four miles from here! I’ll lead them away!” She doesn’t give him a chance to rebuttal as a cry leaves her lips ― wild and fierce and feral as she spurs and calls out to the dead. 

The herd is small, but it’s enough to terrorize and tear her down if she gave them the chance. At least they’re dumb enough to follow with the intention of food and horror instead of focusing on the people within the motorhome. She makes a mental note of the fact that Eric was limping as she weaves through trees and wilds. The crunch of dead, fallen foliage leaves her feeling that primal serenity not many get to enjoy anymore in this day and age. The gurgle of dead with the clattering of decaying teeth not far behind, but she feels alive; the most since the separation of her old family ― her only family.

_ I’ll need to pack my stuff soon _ , she thinks with a shake in her thighs and the tautness of her abdomen.

It takes her twenty minutes tops to get them away, and another five to make a large enough circle around them to lead them away. She’s back to that same feeling from before ― the calmness of the moon filled night with the sparkle of stars and the yips of coyotes. That sense of wild courses through her, even as she finds herself trotting down the alleyway of her dinky safehouse she uses during long hunting trips. It’s easier to store meats that way on long trips; with the chilly basement under the brick and concrete floors. 

She’s met with the clicks of guns being pointed at her, two people pouring out from the shadows with their weapons up and harsh eyes. If there’s one thing she’s taken pride in, it's her ability to stay calm even under pressure ― the O.R. taught her that. 

“Where’s Eric?” she calls out, leaning forward on the pommel of her saddle with a hand petting Luna’s neck. She twirls short strands of the mares mane as she waits for the two people to get close to her. 

“What’s it to ya?” the man sounds gruff ― and with the way he looks ― she’s not exactly surprised by that. Weathered, ginger, tall and bulky; he holds his rifle towards her without a single hesitation. The one behind him is smaller, only by a little, but when she catches the slimmest of glances under the light of the moon and the others flashlight, she can’t help but feel her breath hitch in her throat.

“Oh,  _ god… _ ” she can’t hold back the way she throws herself from her saddle, setting the taller of the two off but she can’t bring herself to care. Bandana removed from her nose, the softest huff of a laugh escaping her lips as she saw the other smile. “ _ Maggie _ .”

“Oh my god.” She nearly knocks her over with her body as she hugs Dakota.  _ How long has it been,  _ she wonders,  _ how long have I stopped looking for them?  _ Dakota’s arms are thrown around Maggie; the tight embrace leaving the two of them breathless. 

“What happened to you?” Maggie questions, her eyes doing a once over, and then another as Maggie’s hand presses against her cheek. The warmth of her palm is enough to get Dakota to laugh a little. “Everyone’s gonna lose their minds over this.” She’s just as excited as she is nervous but with the way Maggie pulls her back into a simple yet familiar embrace, she can’t seem to care about the itty bitty details of her bittersweet reunion. 

The man ― gruff and mean as he looks ― lowered his gun in the midst of it all, a softer look across his features as he waits until he got tired of doing so, “I hate to burst bubbles in sweet old family reunions, but staying out here is somethin’ I’d rather not do.”

She pulls away then but her arm stays firmly around Maggie’s shoulders and Luna’s reins in her other hand as they all walk towards the soft glowing door. “This is Abraham, by the way.” he waves at his mild introduction. 

“Sorry for pointin’ the gun at ya, but you can never be too sure.” Dakota chuckles, her steps falling into rhythm with Maggie’s as Abraham reaches for the door. Dakota ties Luna’s reins on a pipe that stuck out a bit just for that purpose, her chuckle reverberating deep from her chest.

“It’s not like I wouldn’t do the same.” she can’t help the smile that spreads across her lips, a hand reaching to pat Abraham on the shoulder in appreciation and affirmation.

There's a wild wave of nervousness and nausea as she stands at the single step of the door. Maggie has already pushed her way through; excitement teetering against her voice as she starts to announce her arrival in a vague way. “We found someone.” She sounds, and Dakota can’t help but wonder what they might all be thinking about her at that very moment. 

It’s Abraham that ushers her in softly; a firm hand on her shoulder as he urges her into the warmly lit room before closing the door behind him ― hoping for a bittersweet show of a makeshift family’s reconnection. 

It’s Carol that reacts instantly at the sight of her; long strides against the concrete floor with her arms outstretched and tears threatening to spill over lashes. Dakota can hear her mutter something but she can’t seem to pick out what it was as Carl walks over with a large smile and Judith in his arms. 

Dakota’s the first one to pull back, her hands sliding down Carol’s biceps before moving to pull Carl into an embrace before placing a small kiss atop Judith’s forehead ―  _ she’s gotten so big.  _ Sasha was close behind with a warm embrace of her own, her hand lingering on Dakota’s shoulder as Sasha took her in.

“Where are the others?” Her head rotates on a swivel as she takes in the tight space. Rick and Glenn and Michonne nowhere in sight; neither was Daryl. Her stomach sank and churned at the ideas that popped into her head like small, sticky bubbles of tar. 

“Rick, Glenn and Michonne are out there still. We’re not sure where they are though. That herd you led away from us separated us.” Dakota nibbled on her lip when no one mentioned Daryl.

“And Daryl?” Her voice was quiet, and seemingly, only Carol heard her.

“He’s checking the ―,” the basement door slams open, as if on cue.

That man was always good at that sort of thing. 

“There’s a buncha cans down there, all in good ―,” he sees Maggie smiling at him with a wild look, and he can’t help but squint at her for it. “Why ya lookin at me like tha’?”

Dakota can’t hold her breathy chuckle at his indignation; his head snapped at the sound almost within an instant. She takes him in at that moment ― his hair is longer but he still has that gruff look about him with those wild eyes that came with new people or territory but as the cogs in his brain started to work into overdrive he couldn’t help the rush in his belly as he took his own wide strides towards Dakota. 

His crossbow finds the ground with a loud clatter, arms wrapping around Dakota’s broad shoulders as hers go around his waist. Warmth blooms, then solidifies at the idea ― the simple recognition ― that this was real; that he was real and so were the others. Eyes squeezed shut, her chin tucked into his shoulder as he finds himself bowing his body down into her body before he finds himself lifting her off the floor. He’s gasping with emotions, nose pressed into the crook of her neck. It lingers; maybe for a hair too long, but she pulls back first much to his own discontent. Chartreuse eyes strong, but tired as she gazes around the safehouse. Everyone looks exhausted ― run down to the marrow in their bones and then some ― but all she can do is smile at her family.

“I should check Eric, make sure he’s okay.” 

And with that, she was taking soft steps to where they had placed Eric with a splint around his ankle and candles illuminating the room. He lays there; his left leg propped up and splinted. The look of exhaustion seeps through the corners of his eyes, but she can see the smile he holds under the warm candle glow. 

“Look at you, getting injured like this.” She can’t help the chuckle that comes from her throat; soft and warm as she leans down next to him. “He’s gonna have a heart attack, you know.” Eric only laughs. 

“I do, but I’m fine.” Dakota finds it hard to fight against her instincts; fingers graze along the inflamed parts of his ankle. Bruising is starting to set in next to the swelling but the makeshift splint will help more than anything. “It’s a broken ankle from what Maggie said.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s right.” There’s a pitched whistle that sounds through the makeshift safe house, and the sound of people rushing through the door and out into the alleyway. Muffled noises of quiet excitement leave her curious, but she can’t seem to bring herself to move from her spot next to Eric. 

“You know them, don’t you?” Her scoff is playful in sound, but she can feel the tension of stress in her spine as she thinks about it more and more. 

“I was with them from the start.”

“This was your group before Alexandria?” her throat catches before she finds her voice as it teeters with anxiety.

“Yeah,” a heavy sigh finds it way past her lips before she looks at Eric, “yeah, they were.”

“ _ Eric? _ ” Aaron’s voice is quiet; muffled by the walls around them, “ _ Eric? _ ” 

“In here!” There’s a rumble of the front door being pushed open; the resounding slam leaves Dakota more amused than it should have. She stands now, making room for Aaron as he watches Eric under guilty eyes; anxiety exuding from his body.

“I’ll take my leave, then.” Dakota barely makes it out of the doorway as Eric starts to talk to Aaron ― hoping that his calm words would soothe his worries. 

Dakota walks into the main area of the safehouse, the brisk Georgia air feeling heavier than normal as the door opens. She knows the silhouette before she sees his face, and it takes Rick a second to register who’s in front of him before he breaks out into a smile. 

There’s no words between them as they take equal strides to each other. His arms wrap around her shoulders, a hand resting on the back of her head. His cheek is pressed against her temple as he tries to The familial embrace is warm and hardy and to Dakota it feels better than a cup of tee, but as he pulls away only to walk to the back room, she can’t help but stop him just a bit.

“Leave them be for a minute, Rick.”

He doesn’t listen ― tension thick in his shoulders ― as he pushes his way into the darkness of the doorway to watch the two in the back share their heartfelt reunion. 

She feels a hand on her shoulder as Glenn pulls her in for a hug ― quick and brief ― before Michonne takes strides over to Dakota. The reunion is quiet, no lingering thoughts in a time like this as questions were asked in soft whispers and curious tones. They want to know of how she survived after the prison; if Aaron and this community he speaks of can be trusted ― if  _ she  _ trusts them.

Aaron takes nervous steps as he walks out of the room; his voice teetering with emotions as he keeps calm in front of everyone but Dakota can’t help but notice the way Rick stays in the dark ― wild and apprehensive ― as Aaron speaks out. 

Aaron ― ever the kind and full hearted ― takes his own words to heart as he shows his appreciation and gratitude in keeping Eric safe. He makes a promise to owe them ― that he has a debt to pay them ― but Dakota knows that this will be enough. His words will be enough. 

Dakota hovers in a corner; observant and waiting, as she listens to the emotions laced in his words. She waits, and she watches, and she listens as Rick takes a path of apprehension ― a deep seated need to protect his family from whatever could happen; even if it’s just paranoia ― but Maggie argues, and Aaron fights back but it’s Glenn that calms the standing hairs on the back of Rick’s neck. 

And then, it’s settled. Tension starts to seep and crawl its way out through the floorboards as everyone settles in for the night, albeit uncomfortably. Dakota finds herself watching still from her corner, the slight feeling of claustrophobia trickles in through her gut and up her throat before she finds the motivation to talk to Aaron and Rick before their retreat.

“I’m gonna head out.” Rick looks incredulous, but Aaron can’t help but smile that worried smile. “I set a few traps that I want to check, and I want to make sure that group of walkers stays away from us and Alexandria.”

“You gonna be okay on your own?” Aaron’s voice is quiet, but they both know that Eric is listening in. “Why not stay, be with your people a little while longer.”

“ _ Ah _ , so Eric outed me.” 

“ _ Guilty. _ ” she could only chuckle when Eric chimed in. 

“I also see things, you know. That is my job.”

“And  _ my job _ is to keep Alexandria fed.” she pats his shoulder, looking over at Rick who continues to stay quiet. She can see the questions turn like cogs in his skull, but she knows he’ll wait until Aaron is out of earshot to ask them. “So, I should take my leave.”

Aaron stops her before she has a chance to pull away, “The traps can wait until tomorrow, and the walkers won’t cause us anymore problems.” Dakota can’t help the huff that leaves her tongue, a childish look crosses her brow before she smiles. 

“ _ Fine _ , I’ll stay.” 

Aaron retreats to the back, his steps leaving little imagination to the worry he feels towards Eric; the quiet conversation growing between the two lovers melting like the candles at Eric’s bedside. 

There's a tinge of awkwardness; an unsettling tension that swirls around her head like a blackened halo of doubt and self-consciousness. How does she find the chance, let alone the strength to tell them about everything; she knows they have questions and ― in all honesty ― she doesn’t have many answers. 

Her stomach churns as the backroom settles, and she finds herself walking into the group with Rick close behind her. The eyes that are on her leaves her feeling more claustrophobic than the actual walls of the safehouse. Paranoia and anxiety bubble as she feels Maggie carefully reach for her bicep, and it takes everything in her soul to keep from jolting out of her skin. The familiarity of family scares her more than the walkers in the dark of night do. 

It had only been a month, or was it longer? How long has it been since she stopped looking? What happened while she was away from them ― their worn faces show so much more than words could ever sound that it’s hard to think of the unimaginable things they went through. 

Her exhale is shaky as she pulls some semblance of composure; a difficult thing to do with the guilt she holds. She wants to sound out her apologies, cry out her worries and her guilt, beg for forgiveness for not looking hard enough but all she can seem to do is bite her tongue and bow her head. 

“I―,” words get caught in her throat, but she finds some sort of will to continue in her chest, “I’ll take first watch. You should rest.” Maggie doesn’t argue with her as her hand slips from her arm; the drag of her hand over scar tissue through her sleeve leaves goosebumps to litter Dakota’s skin. 

The people around her start to settle; the tired ache in their bones finally able to creep in and settle with the idea in their head that something will come tomorrow ― a better home will come tomorrow. Dakota wonders how they will adapt to Alexandria; to the ideas and rules that Deanna has placed ― the same ones that Dakota herself has a hard time adjusting to.

The door creaks as she slips quietly into the cold of night; the echoes of barn owls flitter in the air as the stars shone above her. The ink black sky with the twinkle of stars and the hum of the white moon brings her peace, but as the door creaks open and the steps of heavy footfall sound to her ears, she can’t help but tense under the upcoming situation at hand.

“What happened out there?” Rick’s voice is soft ― a beacon of strength and hope ― as Dakota finds herself settling under everyone's worried gaze. “After the prison―,”

“I ran. I don’t know where, but that’s all I did. Got surrounded by walkers and had to jump from a cliff and into a river.” She wants to keep it brief, but she can hear the questions he has before he can even ask them. “I got sick ―  _ really  _ sick ― then Aaron and Eric found me. Took me in, and once I was better, they put me to work.”

“As a doctor?” Rick asks, his voice quiet but still sharp.

“They don’t know what I was from before. They didn’t need to know ― not when I wasn’t planning on staying for that long.” The sigh that pushed through her teeth sounded a lot more tense than she wanted to let on, “I never stopped looking for you guys. I just thought―,”

Rick stops her then with a soft squeeze on her shoulder; a comforting touch but it doesn’t feel like enough. “You did what you had to do.”

“I should have tried harder. I didn’t see Beth or any of the others that were with us at the prison in that room, Rick. I should have  _ tried _ harder to find you guys.” She starts to chew on her nails ― a nervous habit that was hard to break ― but Rick pulls her hand from her teeth as she was about to rip her nail off. 

She gets a good look at him then; scruffy and rough around the edges ― as if he’s seen too much; as if he’s done too much ― but that softness in his eyes keeps her from slipping. “What you did was survive, and to find you after so long is more than we ever expected.” 

He pulls her into a hug then ― with a warmth that she could only describe as brotherly. He was the first one she saved since the start of this shit show; the same man she’s followed for years and called family. 

“You shaved your hair off.” he starts to catch onto her appearance then; pulling back to get a better look under the moonlight and the dim lights that filtered through the frosted windows of the safehouse. He catches the way the freshly healed scar on her nose still seems red and sore, and how her blond hair is cut closely to her scalp. Her hand reaches up to run her hands against it, a sheepish smile along her lips. 

“It was a hazard.” and it was, really, but that wasn’t the whole reason why she shaved it. “I didn’t want any walkers pulling on it while I was on my own.”

The door creaks once more, and the two of them look over to see Daryl standing under the light ― a dusty warmth that seemed to light up the area more than they anticipated shrouded him in a soft glow. She can’t imagine he came out here out of worry, but she says nothing as he and Rick talk. 

“Judith was getting fussy.” He’s trying to find a good excuse, but with the way Rick pats Dakota’s shoulder, he knows that it’s more than that. “Carl wasn’t sure what to feed her.” 

There’s a pause then, silent enough to hear the chirping of crickets that hid in the weeds that grew between the cracks of the asphalt. Rick separates from Dakota then, his hand pressed to the back of her head before he walks up to Daryl and pats him on his shoulder. An unspoken bond with the heavy showcase of trust in such a simple touch between brothers. There’s some words said; too quiet for even the wind to catch, but with the way Daryl bristles at Rick’s words, it was probably something said to simply rile him up. 

But then they’re left alone; the creak of the door now a sound added to the call of crickets and barn owls as they stand too far apart for her own liking. The cool night air added to the comfort, though ― taut but light ― under the night sky. She hears Luna paw at the asphalt a few feet to the right of her, causing Daryl to jolt just slightly at the sound of her. 

“She’s a little restless. Not used to being left out in the open like this.” She tries to make conversation but he’s a difficult man to talk to. 

If she can remember correctly, he was a difficult man in general. 

That never did stop the feelings, though. 

He hums ― a soothing sound she wouldn’t mind hearing more of ― as he walks over to Luna to calm her. Dakota watches as her own mare happily laps up whatever attention he gives her before he turns back to the person he came out there to talk to. 

Alone time was always hard to come by, wasn’t it?

She can see the cogs working harder than they’re meant to; a signal that he’s trying to find the right words to say, but she beats him to the punch, “I know what you’re gonna say.” She laughs when he makes an indignant face. 

“Wha’s that?”

“I broke my promise.” She leans against the hood of the car, shoulders slumped forward, her head bowed softly as she feels that blackened halo of guilt glow over the crest of her skull. He probably doesn’t remember, but she does. The way his pinky wraps around her own as havoc and chaos rains around them moments before the prison falls to the Governor. His words had constantly echoed in her skull since she woke up on the rivers shore. 

_ “You gotta go.” His voice is raspy; heavy with power even if it still lingers with a fear of uncertainty. She hates that uncertainty; she wants to shred it down to pieces with her bare hands; throttle it till it can’t breath; bury it alive in a poorly made casket and listen to it suffocate and cry. She wants to keep her home ― to stay in a place she feels like she belongs ― but she’s being forced out.  _

_ “I can help!” She wants to argue more, but Daryl pushes her then. Blunt nails dig into the skin of her shoulder but she finds it more comforting than painful. Her side pulls taut and burns as the stitches pull with each wide stride she takes.  _

_ “Dakota, go!” She throws a tantrum; stomping her feet, huffing and pouting like a proper two year old but Daryl keeps pushing her on ― keen on getting her out of the way of danger. _

_ “No!” _

_ “Promise me you won’t get into trouble!” His voice doesn’t crack under the rage that builds in him ― not towards her; never towards her ― but his brows furrowed in such a way that left her baffled with emotion. His pinky finds hers in a last ditch effort, and he shakes their hands softly before pushing her away from the firefight. “You need to go! Now!” _

“Nah, you didn’ break nothin’.” The car hood sinks under his weight; his side pressed against her own as she peaks up at him, “‘m sure Rick already lectured you on it, huh.” She couldn’t catch the chuckle in time before she nodded at him.

“Still doesn’t make me feel any different.”

“Wha’ could you have done any different?” He questions quietly, as if not to spook her from her skin. She thinks on his words; a dozen scenarios running through her head before she sighs. Too many things could have ended differently ― she could have done so many things differently, but would it even make a  _ difference  _ in the long run.

“I―,” she clears her throat but avoids his gaze ― those same blue eyes that only ever remind her of a raging storm against the sunlight, “I don’t know. Anything?” He hums, and she can feel it vibrate in her chest.

“I know you were still healin’ from that gunshot wound before the prison fell.”

“Yeah, it got infected ― I got sick.” She knows he’ll never ask, but she can still feel the worry that was held in his gaze as he looked at her. She hasn’t even looked back at him; she wasn’t sure if she should ― that heavy guilt feeling in her belly still hasn’t rolled away.

“Ya keep holdin’ onto that guilt, it’s gonna eat you up before any walker does.” the flickering of a lighter illuminates his face, and that’s when she takes the chance to steal a glance at him.  _ Handsome as always _ , she thinks. The smell of smoke permeates in the air around her, and she can’t help but laugh that he’s still able to even find cigarettes ― in what could be considered the wild ― these days.

“At least it won’t be cancer that kills me.” She reaches for the cigarette, snatching it quickly from his hand before taking a deep drag herself. 

“Look who’s talkin’.” 

They stay like that till morning comes, when she takes her leave before the sun rises and she knows that Daryl is watching her leave. Dakota makes a promise to him then, before the empty, pale blue sky with their pinkies laced together. 

“I promise, I’ll come back.” she laughs ― soft-hearted and full ― as he makes a face, “If anything, I might get there before you guys.” 

He takes a moment, as their hands fall only to pull each other in for a lingering embrace ― something they weren’t able to have under the others eyes. She reluctantly pulls back, but keeps him within reach for just a moment longer before she pulls away.

She turns around in her saddle and watches Daryl slip into the safehouse as she canters off towards home.

.-.-.

“Deanna―,” 

“Dakota, I know that these were your people―,”

“They  _ are _ my people. There’s no ‘ _ were _ ’ about it.” Deanna hums ― a diplomatic sound that doesn’t show anything of what she’s thinking ― before she sits down across from where Dakota stands.

“Dakota, I know what I’m doing.” She doubts that; heavily so, but she bites her tongue. “I will treat them how I treat every new person that comes here and stays within the walls of Alexandria. With―,”

“With utter transparency and respect. Yes, I know the words.” Dakota begins to pace, tearing at her nails as she does so.

“Why are you so nervous, Dakota?” The exasperation that blows off from her sigh is heavy, but it doesn’t help ease the feeling of anxiety in her chest. Deanna motions her to sit, but Dakota ignores it.

“My people; they need a place. They deserve this place, and I need them.” Deanna sits on the words that pour from her mouth, the desperation that’s laced within each curve of her tongue is enough to convince Deanna ― or Dakota hopes so.

“Can you vouch for them?” Dakota stops in her tracks and squints.

“What do you mean by that?” Her voice is sharp; the incredulous words can seem to be caught before they spill from her tongue. She’s all bite and venom now; feeling slightly insulted at the insinuation that her people were  _ bad  _ people _. _

“I’m talking about their strengths; their abilities. What they can offer to Alexandria once I figure out who they are.”

Dakota contemplates this, the idea of vouching for her people before Deanna’s even met them ― interviewed them. 

“Yeah,” she clears her throat, then sits in the simple cushioned chair across from Deanna, “Yes, I can vouch for them.”

The knock at the door sounds loudly through the hallway, leaving the two of them to look towards the door. Aaron pops his head in, a worried look as he sees the two of them, “I can come back―,”

“Don’t worry, Aaron.” Deanna gets up then, quickly switching off the video camera behind her before motioning for Aaron to step inside. “We were just having a small conversation.” Dakota finds herself getting up to follow Deanna out; readjusting the buttons on her flannel as Deanna guides the two of them out. 

On the porch, stands the group ― her family ― covered in blood and mud and sweat. A stark contrast of what she probably looks like. Clean and spoiled under the reality of running electricity and running water and the concept of normal human civilization while they’re as feral as can be. 

But she still finds a wholesome and heavy sense of comfort in her chest at the sight of them ― lungs exhaling that long breath of worry she didn’t know she was holding against her rib cage.

Deanna places a hand on her shoulder, nodding with that diplomatic smile of hers before Dakota finds herself walking down the steps with Aaron next to her. She’s nervous, and she’s sure that Aaron can tell by the way she looks over her shoulder at her family until they’re out of eyesight. 

“They’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like they won’t be if you know.” He chuckles, but she scowls at him ― incredulous and moody and a little annoyed ― before she scoffs. 

“You do realize that if they don’t stay, I’m not either.” 

“I know, but I saw the way Rick looked when he walked in through those gates.” Dakota hums in response, unsure of what to say to that sort of comment. “I’m hopeful that they’re gonna stay.”

Dakota stays quiet then, walking down the old asphalt road towards her home that was stationed right next to Aaron’s. It’s a little smaller than the others, but the grassy area in the back was large and open enough for her to build a small pen for Luna to reside during their time within the walls. 

Dakota stops right before her house, looking behind her as if she could see her family still sitting on the porch of Deanna’s home, waiting for her to record their interview in the name of transparency. Aaron still stands close to her; watching as she resists the urge to run back to them. 

He reaches out with a smile; his hand pressed softly to her shoulder before he starts to guide her into his and Eric’s house.

“They’ll be fine.”

She hopes he’s right.

.-.-.

The moon rolls across the sky with ease, but her heart beats against the cage of her ribs out of anxiety and nervousness. She chews her nails to the nub ― tearing at the skin and nails until they’re raw. Eric sits on the couch with a book in his lap and his foot elevated as Aaron makes dinner for the three of them. Some wild pig that she brought in that morning; fresh and fatty, but she finds herself unable to keep an appetite. 

“You should check on them.” Eric sounds behind her, and her body creaks from the twist she does to look at him. “I heard that they were sleeping in the same house.” 

“Eric.” Aaron lightly scolds, flipping the filet of pork in the cast iron skillet. She doesn’t take the time to listen to the playful banter as she pushes herself up from her chair and walks out the front door. 

Four houses down ― she remembers what Aaron told her ― it’s a simple walk. 

They’re her family ― they’ll want to see her. 

Crickets chirp, a constant midnight call of the wild that lures her into the world around her. Who was she before Alexandria? 

She was wild; she thinks she was, at least.

The steps creak under the weight of her steps, but she stops by the third as she starts to second guess herself. A voice full of judgements taps at her skull; a hellish reminder of the way her mind works when it comes to the anxiety she’s developed. 

_ They don’t want to see you _ , it tells her,  _ you’ve changed ― so have they _ , she believes it.

She can see the lights still on behind the blind of the door, and she was sure she just saw Deanna walk back to her home all but huddled in her blue coat. There's a hum coming from the porch light, and the step below her foot still creaks as she teeters on the edge of continuing forward or backing out. 

She chews on her nails, seconds before bailing on this whole self-induced situation when a soft gust of wind pushes her forward. It’s slight; barely-there but she feels the cold shiver that crawls up her flannel and into her bones. 

There’s no point fighting a sign when it hits you in the face like that.

She stands before the door, and practically wills herself to knock ― once, then twice in an awkward succession before adding a third a moment too late ― before stepping back a bit too far from the door. 

Seconds feel like days and it's then that Dakota feels like she should leave, but the door opens and Rick’s standing there, albeit a little annoyed by the idea that it was Deanna and not… Dakota.

But it’s Dakota, in the flesh. She doesn’t feel like she’s there though; it's a little dissociative in concept because of the days she spent alone and away from them. 

She’s counted the days ― she marks them in a beat up composition journal she found at a supermarket a week after the prison ― and she’s sure that this day would have been… 

“Thirty-four.” 

“What?” Rick looks confused, but relaxed in her presence despite the flustering feeling Dakota is feeling in the pits of her belly. 

“Yesterday would have been thirty-three days I think, but today―,” She’s said too much.  _ What a stupid thing to do ― counting the days like that _ , she thinks.

Rick moves slightly from the door, Michonne is smiling at her with a toothbrush in hand. Maggie makes her way from one side of the room over to where Dakota stands in the doorway only to usher her in with the softest of touch, but she still notices how warm her hands are compared to the chill she caught from being outside. 

Dakota tries to ignore the way Daryl perks at the sight of her ― the slightest of twitches that would go unnoticed to most. 

“A lot has happened, huh?” Dakota nods at Maggie, eyes softening when she remembers that not everyone is there with them. No Beth, no Tyreese, no Bob or _ ―  _

“Yeah.” Maggie brings her out of her thoughts, a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile keeps Dakota grounded. Rick clears his throat, catching the two of them off guard before nodding his head over to the porch she came from. Dakota watches the way Rick looks from Daryl to Carol before telling Maggie to get some rest, a motion that leaves Maggie hesitant before she nods. 

Dakota follows Rick out onto the porch, the stature of his shoulders holding the weight of leadership as Daryl follows behind her with Carol close behind. 

“I’m being interrogated, aren’t I?” Dakota jokes as she leaves on the whitewashed railing of the porch, finding herself perched perfectly as she watches the three in front of her stand around her.

“What do you know of this place?” Rick starts, and Dakota snorts a laugh.

“A lot more than they probably want me to know.” Her eyes wander out past the sidewalk and over towards the other houses where some other residents live ― Eliza and Giles or she thinks that’s who lives across from them. “I know that they’ve been lucky as hell living here. Barely any walkers, minimal need for proper training in anything, a decent food supply.”

“And you’ve been here for how long?” Carol asks, her arms are crossed over her chest to keep the cold out, but Dakota’s sure it's her way of staying closed off from everyone else. 

“About twenty or so days.” Dakota slouches, picking at a thread on her flannel, “I’ve been hunting for them for a while now. Or I work with Aaron and Eric when they go out to find new people.”

There’s a break in the conversation as the coyotes yip and howl in the distance. A constant mimicry of animalistic sounds as they hunt their prey in the dead of night. It’s soothing, in a way, but the eyes that follow her don’t ease anything in her stomach. 

“They’re not the most… competent of people.” Carol snorts, shaking her head.

“ _ That’s _ an understatement.” Dakota can’t seem to hide the smile from Carol’s slight mutterings, but Rick could only twist his body to give her a pointed look.

“What else can ya tell us?” Daryl chimes in then, leaning on the same beam as Dakota with his back against a post for support. 

“This place will fall under the slightest push.” She starts off with a sigh, shrugging her shoulders as she looks down at her feet, “They were rather desperate when Aaron brought me in ― some shit about my survival instincts being better than everyone's.”

“Why did you never tell them you were a surgeon?” Rick questions, now finding a reason to settle in a chair not too far from where they were talking. Carol leaned on a pillar adjacent from the rest of them, watching the street with careful eyes.

“I don’t ― I don’t trust them, in the slightest.” it was a soft mutter, but she knows they heard her. “The doctor that’s here ― Pete ― he uh… he hits his wife, and Deanna knows about it and does nothing. And,  _ Jesus _ , Jessie just goes along with it―,” Carol goes rigid, and Rick watches the exasperated way Dakota moves her hands as she talks about it. There’s an anxiety on the topic, and probably more than has already been said. Daryl stays quiet; listening and waiting and watching the sidewalks and houses.

“Have you said anything about it?” Carol questions, not as stern as before but the sharpness is there under the seams of her suburbanite look.

“I tried to talk to Jessie, but she just told me to stay out of it. She doesn’t like me much because of it. Deanna said some shit about it that I can  _ barely _ remember, but I refuse to help out when they can’t even help one of their own.”

The silence bubbles over once more, nothing but the howling wind to fill the space between them where words were once passed. 

“I was actually getting ready to leave.” Dakota runs her hand over her head ― haphazardly buzzed and slightly growing with each passing day. “I have a lot of meat dried up and made into jerky because I was about to come find you guys.”

An overwhelming sense of nausea crashes into her like a wave once she realizes that she’s sitting amongst her family; the people she thought were dead and gone while she lived in a house with a roof and running water.

A lump forms in her throat, and it's suffocating in the way that it chokes her from her words. Daryl sees that when she drops her head; digging the heels of her palms in her eyes and huffing through her nose. The exasperation and tension rolls down her neck in subtle shudders before she can find it in her to sit back up with a blank look and a sigh.

“I should―,” she clears her throat, jumping down from her small perch, “I should head back, leave you guys to rest.” 

She sounds bashful; shy in the way she tugs on her flannel sleeves like she’s trying to cover up something. Daryl watches as she embraces Carol ― the soft hug leaving them clinging to each other for a little longer as they whisper words to each other ― before she presses her hand on Rick’s shoulder.

“You’re welcome to stay.” Rick places his hand over hers, looking up at her from his porch chair. Exhaustion has finally taken over him, dark rings under his eyes and the sluggishness in his shoulders as he groans softly when he pushes himself up from the chair. “You’re family, we’ll make room for you.”

Daryl watches the cogs turn in her head; debating the idea of if she should join them or not. He wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to go back home and be alone ― that feeling of guilt still eating up inside her ― but the bite of her lip and the subtle nod has Carol looking over at him with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. 

“I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone likes what I have so far. I've been working on this for a while so I hope it meets everyone's standards.


End file.
